


Stuck

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Words Unspoken [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Everybody gets mentioned, Hannigram - Freeform, Home is where the dogs are, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mild Language, My First Work in This Fandom, Naughty Hannibal, Post Sorbet, Sexual Tension, Sleepwalking, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham’s dogs, Will’s Encephalitis, Your friendly neighbourhood psychopath, a friend in need, flirtation, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9388007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Will is stuck, and in a way, so is Hannibal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m mostly avoiding working on ‘Wishes’ right now since I’ve been hit with a bad case of writer’s block but of course ONLY for that particular story. I also started re-watching Hannibal and so I bring you this, my first Hannibal fic. I may or may not expand this into a series, there’s more plot bunnies hopping around in my head. We’ll see.  
> Enjoy, and let me know what you think.
> 
> And of course many thanks to the lovely M. for betaing this for me. <3

It was already 11:30 pm when Hannibal Lecter’s phone rang. He was in bed, reading a book about psychopaths in positions of power, something a former patient had given to him as a parting gift. The man had thought he was being so very clever, and Hannibal was still considering whether he’d pay him an unofficial visit. The book didn’t contain much information he didn’t already know but the author managed to draw him in regardless with her quick wit, and he finished reading the paragraph he was on before picking up the phone.

The display told him Will Graham was calling, and a small smile tugged at his lips. Of course it was Will. Nobody else called at this hour.

He pressed the ‘answer call’ button and held the phone to his ear. “Lecter.”

A rush of air as Will sighed in relief. “Thank God, you’re home.”

“Will? Is that you?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Hannibal marked the page he had been reading and shut the book before putting it on his night stand. “No, don’t worry. I was reading.” He pushed off his blanket and swung his legs out of bed. “Any particular reason for this late night call?”

Will cleared his throat a couple of times before answering, and Hannibal could perfectly picture the way he looked to the side nervously and the flush rising in his cheeks. “I… kind of need your help. I’ve been sleepwalking again.”

“Where are you?”

“Um… At home. But… I got stuck. In a window.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows rose. “How did you manage to do that?”

“I have no idea. I guess I tried climbing out. Woke up when the window came down on my back. And now I can’t get it open.”

If Hannibal had been the type to laugh out loud, he would have laughed now. Instead, he smiled to himself as he rose. “I shall be with you within the hour.” 

He made no real effort to get to Wolf Trap as quickly as possible, of course. He dressed unhurriedly, casually in slacks and a soft hand-knit jumper he had bought in Italy many years ago, and kept a steady five mph beneath the speed limit so the one hour drive turned into a comfortable 85 minutes. Will knew how traffic could get around the city, even at night.

Hannibal still had the keys to Will’s house from when he had fed his dogs, the pack greeting him with loud barks now as soon as the Bentley pulled up in front of the house, and he let himself inside as the animals bustled around his legs, clearly agitated. The house was dark and silent, cold seeping into the rooms, probably from the open window. “Will?”

“Bedroom! Upstairs!” Will’s voice came down the stairs, faintly and with a distinct chatter of teeth, and Hannibal climbed the stairs after he had given a signal to stay to the dogs.

The sight that greeted him when he stepped through the doorway was exquisite. Will’s upper body was outside the window, his legs just long enough to support him almost comfortably instead of forcing him to stand on his toes. He wore nothing but a thin white t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants that clung to his slender hips, and Hannibal could picture exactly how the muscles in his thighs worked to hold him upright. He had somehow managed to squeeze one arm back into the room and fish his phone off the nightstand, and Hannibal had to admit he was impressed by his flexibility.

“Hannibal? Is that you?”

He turned on the light and stepped forward, the cold air coming in through the window giving him goosebumps for half a second. “Are you expecting any other visitors at this hour?”

“Very funny.”

Hannibal stepped closer, coming to a stop beside Will. “I do apologise. I would have been here earlier but there was an accident on the Interstate. Traffic was a nightmare.” Will’s t-shirt had ridden up his back and gotten stuck outside the window frame, and Hannibal looked his fill. Being wrapped up the way Will usually was, in button-downs and jumpers and jackets, he didn’t get many chances like this. The most he had seen of Will were his arms when he pushed up his sleeves during their ‘conversations’. He was just as pale as Hannibal had imagined, speckled with the odd birthmark here and there, the muscles working beneath the skin. Seeing him helpless like this, once more utterly dependent on Hannibal’s assistance – it filled him with a peculiar sense of warmth.

Will cleared his throat, shifting his stance. “So are you going to get me out of here?”

Hannibal snapped out of his trance. “Yes, of course.” He shrugged out of his coat, placing it neatly on the bed, and turned back to the window, placing his hands on the frame on either side of Will’s waist and giving an experimental tug. Nothing happened. He pulled again, putting more of his strength into it, and the frame gave a groan, moving up half a millimetre. “It appears the frame is well and truly stuck.”

Will groaned, his head drooping. “Just my luck.” His teeth were chattering steadily now, his flesh riddled with goosebumps.

Hannibal smiled faintly. “But I do believe we should be able to move it together. If you push while I pull, I think it should open.”

“Let’s try that then. On three. One, two, three!”

Hannibal watched as the muscles in Will’s back tightened, the window frame cutting a deep groove into his skin as Will pushed against it. There was a beautiful bruise already forming where the window had come down on him, and Hannibal knew it would look even more stunning once it changed colour from irritated red to black and blues and greens. It really was a pity he probably wouldn't get to see that.

Will panted in exertion when the window, of course, didn’t budge an inch, and all tension drained out of him. “It’s not working. I’ll freeze to death here.” He laughed shallowly. “It was nice knowing you, Hannibal.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. Let’s try again. As before, on three. One, two, three.” This time, he did pull, and after a second where nothing happened, the frame gave another groan and started moving upwards ever so slowly, until it was high enough for Will to slide backwards and into the room. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering and moaning in both pleasure and pain as he straightened his back. Hannibal closed the window again before turning back to Will. His hair was as wild as ever, his lips starting to go slightly blue, and for a second Hannibal wanted nothing more than to kiss the colour back into them.

Will smiled, or at least tried to with his teeth still chattering. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to drive all the way out here in the middle of the night.”

Hannibal picked up the comforter that lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed, untangled it and wrapped it around Will’s shoulders before returning the smile. “Never apologise for needing my help, Will. It will always be gladly given.” Will looked up at him with wide eyes, and Hannibal turned away to pick up his coat off the bed. “Please, sit. Your back is quite badly bruised, I’m afraid. I’d like to have a look at it.”

Will complied, padding over to the bed and sitting with his back to Hannibal. “I don’t want to be any more trouble.”

Hannibal draped his coat over the back of a chair before sitting behind him, the much too soft mattress dipping beneath him and tipping Will in his direction. Hannibal caught him with his palm between his shoulder blades, noting the soft intake of breath at the contact. “It’s no trouble, I assure you.” He pulled the blanket off Will’s shoulders, then leaned forward and around him, until Will was ever so slightly pressed to his chest, to spread the blanket in his lap and over his legs. With his lips next to Will’s ear, he said, “Take off your shirt, please,” before leaning back again, happily noting how Will moved with him.

Will seemed to catch himself, stopping and instead reaching up and pulling his shirt over his head. Hannibal leaned forward slightly, breathing in his scent as it rose up between his shoulders. The smell of sickness was unmistakable to him but beneath that was _Will_. Will who now dropped the shirt on the ground and looked back at him over his shoulder. “I can tell you one thing even without looking at it: it hurts like hell.”

Hannibal smiled softly. “I’m sure it does.” He placed his palm on Will’s back again, pushing gently until he leaned forward, one hand on the mattress to balance himself. The red was already turning into a vivid purple, spreading all the way over his lower ribs. “Do you have some sort of sports ointment? It may not stop or ease the bruising but it should at least help your muscles relax.” More importantly it gave Hannibal another excuse to touch Will.

He nodded. “I think I have some Tiger Balm somewhere. I’ll go get it.” He made to get up but Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing him back down on the bed.

“You will do nothing of the sort. You will wait here, and I’ll get it.” He rose and smiled down at Will. “Doctor’s orders.”

Will chuckled, something he obviously regretted immediately as a look of pain flashed across his face. “Alright, knock yourself out. Bathroom, should be in the cupboard under the sink.”

Hannibal inclined his head and walked out of the bedroom. The bath was to the left, the door standing wide open, and he stopped in the doorway to just look for a moment. There was a towel haphazardly flung into the corner, still damp from Will’s shower. Yesterday’s clothes had been dropped carelessly on top of the hamper, shirt and jumper and jeans all wadded up together and left there. He shook his head disapprovingly before sinking to a knee in front of the sink, pulling open the cupboard door. There was the little jar of liniment, next to a bottle of Will’s atrocious aftershave, and Hannibal smiled as he spotted the little ship on the label. Dear predictable Will.

He would have to give him something better for Christmas.

Taking the jar, he straightened and closed the door again before returning to the bedroom. Will was exactly how he had left him, leaning forward slightly and catching his weight on one hand. Warmth was rising up from the heating vent beneath the window, and the colour had returned to Will’s lips. He turned his head to look at Hannibal when he heard his footsteps, his hair falling into his eyes, and if Hannibal hadn’t known better, he would have thought the man knew exactly what the way he looked back at him and that small smile were doing to him.

He held up the jar. “Right where you said it would be.”

Will smiled softly. “At least I got one thing right. Go, me.”

Hannibal walked over to him, motioning at the mattress. “You may be more comfortable lying down.” He held out his hand, waiting for Will to hand him the blanket. Will untangled his legs from beneath himself, stretching them out behind him as he held himself up with his arms. Hannibal watched, fascinated, as the muscles of his back worked beneath the skin. Even like this, chilled to the bone and slightly feverish, Will Graham possessed a certain crude elegance, moving like someone comfortable in his body, a fact that brought Hannibal endless amusement considering that Will was so uncomfortable with _every other_ aspect of himself.

Now Will pillowed his head on his hands, looking up at Hannibal from the corner of his eye. “Like this?”

He nodded and sat next to Will, his thigh just brushing against the other’s hip. “Perfect.” He unscrewed the jar, wrinkling his nose at the sharp smell of herbs, and dipped two fingers into the substance. He smiled softly down at Will, his hand hovering over the bruise. “This is going to sting quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

Will’s visible eye creased as he smiled back. “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘just a little’?”

“I thought we didn’t lie to each other.” He brought his fingers down, smearing the ointment into the bruise, and Will hissed.

“ _Fuck_ , that burns.”

Hannibal watched how the bruise changed colour under his fingertips depending on how much pressure he applied. He could spend days doing this. More so, he wanted to sink his teeth into Will’s flesh, in an _entirely_ non-culinary fashion, wanted to mark him, to _claim_ him. It was most unsettling.

It had truly been a stroke of luck that Alana Bloom had referred Will to him. Divine intervention, almost. Watching Will chase the Chesapeake Ripper while his mental health deteriorated under the supervision _of the Chesapeake Ripper_ – Hannibal couldn’t have set it up better himself. It was delightful in every sense of the word.

“I did warn you. If you would rather I stop...”

“No, it’s fine.”

What Hannibal hadn’t anticipated was how captivating he’d find Will. It certainly helped that he was easy on the eyes but that played such a minor role that Hannibal himself forgot about it at times. No, what ultimately reeled him in had been Will’s vulnerability and his willingness to bare his soul to him, so to speak. Hannibal could only imagine how hard that had to be for Will with his crippling social anxiety. But he had done it, and the fact that Jack Crawford had more or less ordered him to had fallen away after a wonderfully short while. He really did think of Hannibal as his friend, not just his therapist. On top of that, there was Will’s considerable intelligence. It would have been dishonest to himself if Hannibal didn’t accept that it quite simply stroked his ego that he was able to misdirect both Will’s intellect as well as his natural intuition.

Will’s muscles were tense under Hannibal’s fingers at first but it only took a few moments until the tension drained away, and Will gave a deep sigh of contentment. “You know, if the psychoanalysis thing should ever fall through, you could become a massage therapist.”

Hannibal set the jar on the floor next to his feet so he could use both hands, and Will buried his head in his arms with a deep groan. “You flatter me, Will. My knowledge of massage techniques is rudimentary at best.”

“Your version of rudimentary is what other people would call advanced and you know it.” His voice was muffled, and Hannibal allowed himself a smile.

“Nevertheless.”

They settled into comfortable silence for a while, with only Will giving the occasional grunt of pain when Hannibal hit a particularly sensitive spot, or soft sounds of unrestrained pleasure. He had long since abandoned pretending to only rub the liniment into the bruise, spreading out to also massage Will’s shoulders and lower back. The man seemed to consist entirely of tightly wound muscle, and Hannibal worked diligently to help unwind them. His fingertips just barely skimmed the edge of Will’s pyjama pants, and Will drew in another sharp breath, his scent changing ever so slightly, just enough to tell Hannibal that he would probably not be rebuffed, should he advance in that direction. Then Will pressed his hips against the mattress, a subconscious movement most likely, a response to the physical stimulation. Hannibal knew it happened frequently even in professional massage settings. Still. Interesting. 

Finally, Hannibal patted Will’s shoulder. “This should be sufficient. How do you feel?”

Will pushed himself up on his elbows, grimacing slightly. “I still feel it and it’ll be one hell of a bruise. But it’s much better.” He smiled softly. “I feel like all I do is thank you for helping me.”

“Not at all, Will. I assure you that our relationship is mutually beneficial to both of us.”

Will’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked down at his hands. “You’ll be wanting to get back home. It’s late.”

Hannibal got to his feet, careful not to touch his jumper, his hands still coated in the ointment. “Actually, I was hoping you would let me make you some tea. You still look entirely too cold for my taste.”

Will cocked his head to the side, considering. “I’d like that. If you can forgive me for only having tea in bags. Which are probably years old.”

“We will make do.” He raised his hands. “I will go clean up and then I shall wait for you downstairs. You’ll want to put on warmer clothes.”

He left Will to his own devices as he walked back into the bathroom, washing his hands with Will’s cheap soap and drying them on his rough towels. When he was finished, he started towards the stairs, and just as he walked past Will’s door, he heard it. The smallest bit-off moan, hardly loud enough for most people to hear through the closed door, quickly muffled in a pillow.

More interesting still.

Hannibal continued down the stairs, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. The dogs had settled into sleepy piles of fur in front of the space heater Will used in the living room, and only a few of them even perked up their ears when he came downstairs.

Everything in Will’s kitchen was old but well taken care of. Hannibal chose the kettle over the water boiler, rummaging through the cupboards in search of the tea. There, in the cupboard over the sink, was a bag of loose rose bud tea, next to a box of paper tea bags. Neither had ever been opened. Softly humming to himself, Hannibal set to preparing the tea. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, given its anti-inflammatory properties, but it would have to do for now. He was just pouring the water into two mugs when Will came down the stairs, now wearing an old, oversized sweatshirt and knit socks. His cheeks were still slightly rosy, though that could have been from being out in the cold for so long.

Hannibal suspected the cause was something else entirely.

The dogs rose almost as one, crowding Will in their midst and nosing at his hands and thighs. He smiled down at them absent-mindedly, patting their heads. “Hey guys. It’s okay, I’m fine.” He looked at Hannibal, hair falling into his eyes again. “They didn’t bother you, did they?”

Hannibal shook his head. “They were remarkably well behaved. For dogs.” He motioned at the table. “Please, sit.”

Will slid into a chair, hissing in pain as he leaned back unthinkingly and put pressure on his bruise. “Shit, I keep forgetting it’s there.” Hannibal merely hummed his acknowledgement, and they let silence envelop them once more as they waited for the tea to finish brewing. When Hannibal had removed the tea bags, he brought the mugs over to the table, setting one in front of Will before settling in the chair opposite. Will wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth creep into his bones. “Thanks.”

“I was surprised to find this. You have never used it.”

“Alana gave it to me. Months ago. I forgot I had it.”

Hannibal watched him closely. “Have you known each other long?”

Will’s fingers twitched against the mug. “About two years. We met at the academy.”

“She never told me about you before she referred you to me.” He looked down into his mug when he said this, purposefully giving Will the privacy to react. There was only a resigned sigh, and he looked up again, meeting Will’s eyes. “That doesn’t surprise you.”

Will smiled sadly and looked out the window. “People don’t usually tell their friends about me. Except maybe as an amusing story over drinks.” He fiddled with the handle of his mug. “I’ve been wondering if it’s not purely professional interest on your part as well.”

Hannibal reached across the table, placing his hand on Will’s as he caught the other’s eye. “If this were nothing but a professional relationship, I would let you know. I consider you my friend, Will.”

Will flushed again, more deeply this time and not from his fever at all.

Hannibal let go of his hand with a smile and motioned at the bed. “I assumed you didn’t use the upstairs bedroom.”

Will sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t. I like being down here, with the dogs. Means I can hear people coming. Makes it easier to pretend I’m not home.” He took a sip of his tea. “Upstairs is basically just an oversized walk-in closet. And the bathroom, of course.”

“I hope you have never had to pretend not to be home when I came to visit.”

Will laughed at that. “No, I haven’t.” He looked at Hannibal through his lashes, hands wrapped around his mug like an anchor. “Never felt the need.”

Hannibal cocked his head, mirroring him as he picked up his own mug and closed his hands around it. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

They sat in silence until they had both finished their tea, Will looking out of the window and watching the moon move across the sky, and Hannibal watching Will. It really was a shame that they found themselves on opposite sides of the law, so to speak. He would have made a truly formidable companion.

Then again, the game wasn’t up yet. Things might turn out favourably after all. Hannibal was certainly not going to throw in the towel just yet.

When both their mugs were empty, Hannibal brought them over to the sink, rinsing them out before placing them in the dishwasher.

Will got to his feet and walked over to him. “I never use that. It came with the house.”

Hannibal smiled. “I thought it did.”

“It just doesn’t make much sense to use it. I don’t have enough dirty dishes.” He took the mugs out of the dishwasher again and set them in the sink.

Hannibal gave him a disapproving look. “Then at least let me clean them for you. You ought to get some rest.”

Will hunched his shoulders with a frown. “I can wash my own dishes, you know. I have a bruise, not cancer.” He looked at Hannibal from the corner of his eye. “I’ve taken up too much of your time already anyways.”

Hannibal placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, and Will flinched before relaxing into the touch. “As I told you, it’s not a problem. You’re not a burden, Will.”

Will sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “So you keep telling me. I guess I just have a hard time believing it.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Well, for the umpteenth time then, thank you. It feels good to have a friend like you.” He looked down at his feet, rubbing the sole of his right over the top of his left.

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder before letting go. “I will get my coat. You should try and get some more sleep.” He turned away without waiting for an answer, climbing the stairs as Will watched him go. Upstairs, the scent of Will’s arousal was unmistakable, and he stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Will Graham really was full of surprises.

His coat folded neatly over one arm, he walked back down the stairs, finding Will sitting cross-legged on his makeshift bed in the living room. One of the larger dogs – Winston, if he remembered correctly – had curled up next to it, watching Hannibal. If he had been human, Hannibal would have interpreted the look the dog gave him as full of suspicion.

Hannibal shrugged into his coat. “Let us hope then that Jack Crawford and the killers he would have you chase will leave you in peace today. You need to rest.”

Will laughed bitterly. “We both know how high the chances are of that happening.”

Hannibal inclined his head. “Be that as it may. Good night, Will.”

“Good night, Doctor Lecter.”

The moon was incredibly large as it sank slowly towards the horizon, and the Chesapeake Ripper watched its descent for a minute before getting into his Bentley and driving back towards Baltimore.

He would not tire of Will Graham for a long time to come.

The END


End file.
